Chapter Text
“Please state your name, age, and date of birth please.” The woman’s formal, short tone spoke. The smell of coffee wafted through the air.
“My name is Mira Singh, I’m 15 years old, and I was born on October 27th, 1993.”
“Can you state the date and current time?” She kept her finger right above the record button.
“September 30th, 1:38 p.m.”
“Thank you.” and she presses. “Meeting started: September 30th, at 1:38 p.m. Speaking to Mira Singh[Changed Last Name], daughter of Jack Napier and Harleen Quinzel. No known diseases or disorders. Jack Napier, Miss Singh’s father, has a recorded history of violence and is diagnosed to have Alternative Model of Personality Disorder; Type 5, sociopathy, and narcissism. Her mother has no diagnoses of mental disorders. Both sides of the family have a history of drug & alchohol use. Is that correct Miss Singh?”
“Yes”
“And do you know why you’re here?”
“I’m here to be evaluated for any mental disorders in order to be placed under the legal parental guardianship of Bruce Wayne.”
…
“Meeting adjourned at 3:30 p.m.” The woman pushes up her glasses. “Well Miss Singh, I’ll send your results over to the court and you in 2 days.”
“Thank you,” Mira says, standing up from her chair and smoothing out her hair which she seemed to do for the 50th time. It had to be nerves. She’s been staring at the painting behind the woman’s head for the past 2 hours. Her cup of coffee was left untouched. It was a cute mug. Strawberries on the rim and a nice white on the handle. The coffee, from the one sip she did have, was bitter and too hot for her. She shakes the woman’s hand, with a soft smile. Something no one can trace back to either of her parents. She was walked out by an employee, and taken to the sleek black car, which is driven by an old butler, she still has to make sense of.
“How was your session, Miss Singh?” His British accent is clear and succinct. It makes her want to take soap to her mouth and wash it ‘till the New Jersey Crime Alley accent is erased from her tongue.
“She said she’d send over the results in 2 days, and you can call me Mira, if you’d like?” She tries for some shallow attempt at cordiality. She focuses on his mouth now. Waiting for him to speak again.
“Then I must insist you call me Alfred.” It replays in her head, the stress on the second syllable of insist. She looks at her reflection in the car window. Her wavy hair brushed out, the simple tshirt and denim skirt. This was what she was going for: A normal girl with no baggage. She reviews his words then decides to try it out.
“Okay then, Alfred.” She can feel her voice sound more ‘clear’, it just felt weird passing through from her tongue. Nothing she couldn’t deal with.
“Thank you, Miss Mira.”
“And what’s with the ‘Miss’ thing?”
“Just a formality.” ‘Just a formality’ that's the word that keeps being thrown around isn’t it. ‘Just a formality’ and it's a psych eval, ‘just a formality’ and it's a court hearing. She decides she hates the word. It’s too little and too much. She moves her hair out of her face. Thankfully the clip method has been working, it’s less frizzier to work with now. They reach back to the Manor. An old mansion that makes it look like that maybe the rumors surrounding the Wayne family in Crime Alley were true (Secret vampires, heavily connected with the mafia, Batman being Bruce Wayne’s baby daddy.) She had to applaud Bruce’s entire act though, it worked but right now and forevermore, she decides that she would like to name the Manor “War Zone” It honestly fits.
As they both enter, she goes straight to her new room. It was bigger than any space she ever lived in. A giant bed, a desk, a vanity, and a walk-in bathroom and closet. She face-planted on the bed, her book “Clinical Psychology & Applications” laid butterfly style on her bed. She found it in the library here, which seemed to be about the only room she liked. Even if the last 2 times she’s been in there, she’s been yelled at to get out, to which she thought to herself Fuck you too Jason or as she called him in her head Jay-bitch. Honestly though, what did she expect? Her dad killed the guy or something close to it and he came back. She would be much worse. Except she’d take the chance to extort some money out of her parental guardian, which is something that she would advise Jason to do, if he stopped, you know… being a whiny little bitch.
It’s not like she wants to be his kid. Everyone knows that. Hell, that's the only reason she got adopted (or close to it.) So then why the hell does she have to put in overtime to prove it? What else is she supposed to do? Write an essay about how sorry she is for being born? A handwritten apology? Dear the City of Gotham, I’m so sorry that my parents didn’t use protection like one time? Okay so maybe not that. She opens her new computer, and damn it, they enrolled her in school. Which she’s okay with. Except she never went to school, which means she has never learnt math, at least up till Algebra 1. She checks what class they put her in… shit. Advanced Algebra 2? Who the hell put her in Advanced? She checks the rest of her classes, English, which should be easy, she already speaks it. World History can't be too bad. Chemistry… it's official, her entire life she’s been holding out hope that maybe the universe didn’t hate her, dashed. Maybe she should’ve opted for a stupid homeschool or self-taught curriculum. At least, you’ll be a normal girl FAILING 2 classes. She groans. It's fine, right? She can teach herself Algebra 2, she did it with Algebra 1, she can do it again.